


Dissection Dance

by Makowo



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa Zero, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc
Genre: Angst, F/M, Junko lives, Makoto smokes, Most of the characters are there for like a second, No beta me and my anxiety will die with this mess, Post-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Was listening to Last Dance and Otome Dissection and thus this was born, this is full of headcanons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 14:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17830223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makowo/pseuds/Makowo
Summary: Each word sends sparks through his heartHe thirsts for love, but he’s gone blind





	Dissection Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to try something a bit calmer, kinda. Wrote this in four hours over a drive through Atlanta.

The streets bustle with life, neon lights shedding onto the seemingly endless crowds. Chatter fills the air and mixes with the noise of a hundred other conversations that melt into gibberish upon the ears of others. A million different lives, with a million different pasts and fates.

 

A scream slices through the night air, though drowns in the endless noise. The moment after, it’s disregarded, as if it never happened.

* * *

“Makoto.” A voice, sweet upon his ears rouses him from sleep. He yawns, stretches and rubs his eyes. The soft patter of rain against glass is the only constant noise within the penthouse that towers over Tokyo.

 

The room is minimalistic, black and white dominating the dark room. A large bed against the wall with a small tree sitting in a pot on the nightstand. A small cup of coffee sits beside it, and he quickly takes it.

 

He sips on the drink, glad for the soft warmth that floods his mouth and energizes his body. With a quiet sigh he glances past the girl beside him. The light blinks back an ungodly hour. He looks back to her with a questioning stare.

 

“It’s four in the morning.” His voice has an annoyed edge to it, but he immediately softens when he sees her. He lays down beside her, faces close. He wraps his arms around the woman’s waist and pulls her close to his chest, running fingers through her long, dull red hair. “What’s wrong?”

 

She looks up at him, and her voice is barely a whisper above the rain. “Please, don’t do it again.”

 

He looks down at her, washed-out green locking with sky blue. He hesitates for a moment, stunned into silence, before sighing away his tension with a soft smile. Words sick to his throat like dried amber, finally giving way after a few seconds. Just as he finds an answer, her soft snores fill the bedroom.

* * *

He dreams of a hospital on top of the world. Rays of color line his form, swiftly following a woman dressed in gray and a million other shades. He naught but an imitation of her, a shadow that soon takes her place and leads the world into rebuilt light. Tearing down her gray facade and revealing a mess of pink knives and twisted smiles-

* * *

Oh how he wishes he could say those words, let them be choked out into the air with a scream. Let her realize what he wants, what he craves to hear. To be able to hold them and let them dance among his final hushed breath.

 

And yet, and yet, he doesn’t. He lets the light flood his vision. Listens to muffled screams with a hidden smile. And then, she takes it away. He loves that change about her.

* * *

The room is dark. He appreciates the rain that hits with windows with hard thuds, drowning out the sounds of barely covered sobs. He lays there, trying. Trying. To understand. To know why.

 

He smiles. He isn’t guilty. He can’t be.

* * *

And yet, and yet, he unravels. Arms and legs dashed with red each night as his lungs dye black. His heart wears, slow and steady until he sees her again, now with red hair and crystal blue eyes that tease long gone memories and pull him to her like metal to a magnet-

* * *

His friends chatter in the kitchen, a soft warmth blanketing the cold air. He leans against the banister and watches wisps of smoke float into the sky, before they dissipate from his view.

 

The sound of a door sliding shut cuts through his daze. He takes a subtle glance to the source as they move to stand beside him. He hums in acknowledgement, taking his gaze back to the thick fog as it rolls over them.

 

“Naegi-san.” Byakuya says after a moment, voice soft. A tone exclusive to times like this.“How have you been?”

 

He crushes the cigarette in the tray beside him. “I’ve been okay.” He can feel the taller man’s stare. He sighs, sinking lower into his position. “... Tired, really. Therapy’s been going good, but I bet you’ve already paid for copies of the reports.” He internally grins at the Ex-Ultimate Heir’s soft curse. “I’ve known you for years, Togami-kun. You should know better than that.”

 

“Tch. Clever as always.”

 

Makoto laughs, standing up a bit straighter. “Well, someone has to keep up with your wits.” He lets out a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets with a smile. “How’s the kids? Doing okay away from the orphanage so soon?”

 

Togami gives a barely masked chuckle. “Ah, they’ve been fine. Toko’s a fantastic babysitter, despite her personalities. They’re all shaping up to be great leaders, I’m having a hard time choosing who to make the heir.”

 

“Try letting them explore some other occupations. I’m sure that if they find something else they want to do, then you’ll have an easier time.” “I suppose.”

 

They fall into silence. Just the two of them, survivors of a tragedy that should never have happened. A bird’s silhouette flies through the fog, before disappearing just as quick.

 

“Hey Byakuya.” He drops the honorifics, his voice low. “What... do you think Kyoko, Aoi, and Yasuhiro would be doing now?”

 

The other freezes up. Naegi’s blank stare bores into him, awaiting an answer. He finds a sick enjoyment in the way the taller man, often dignified and composed, break down in sweats under his will.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

The next moments are a blur of yelling and screaming as the smaller boy climbs over the banister, and with a laugh, jumps-

* * *

Eyes glimpse hungrily from the edges of his vision. He speeds up his walk. They follow, slowly sliding out of the darkness of alleyways and shifting into the crowd like perfect puzzle pieces. He runs, pushing and shoving past faces blurred by rain. They don’t hide anymore, running through the crowds like water and are snapping at his heels with shouts _come on help us that’s your job your talent what you have to do your only purpose come and just fucking di_

Then it stops, and he’s alone, left with disgusted stares and friends that don’t need him and leave him to drown in memories of an array of colors and personalities that died by his hands.

He did the right thing. “I’ve sacrificed so much for you, now answer me. Do you

* * *

Snow drifts down, frost spreading over glass. Makoto watches in a haze. 

“Naegi-san.” He glances to the door, seeing a boy dressed in black. “My name is Saihara Shuichi. I’ll be your new therapist from now on.” Hm. A confident assumption. He glimpses behind the boy, seeing her standing behind him. She scurries off after they lock eyes, leaving them alone.

The boy coughs and straightens his tie, staring at Makoto. He pats the spot on the bed beside him, and he takes the offer.

They talk for a while, and Makoto finds a better liking to the boy. Until he hears his old talent.

* * *

She gives him a thrill unlike anything else. A soft crave for her touch and sharp words that tie his soul in knots. She can’t recall her past and can’t see her future, but they love anyways, despite the past he keeps from her. They love, but he uncovers his doubt, his desperation for her love to be real and tangible- 

* * *

He can’t remember their voices. Can’t see their faces except in old photos he burned long ago. He doesn’t cry though. He laughs, lives for them like they would for him.

 

But maybe just a moment wouldn’t hurt.

* * *

It blurs his vision, blinds him with a wish for her. It’s a feeling that he knows isn’t hope but not quite despair either a primal urge an instinct to end her and avenge them and all his friends and his family and everyone in the world. To laugh as they dance their last dance, to compose the grand finale to their horrible awful charade.

 

And then, it happens. He doesn’t realize what he has. He never does.

* * *

“Makoto!” Her voice is so so sweet it sends sparks through his heart at each word.

 

He turns, the light of the Moon illuminating his darkened face.

 

“I want to hear you say it.” His voice is void of emotion, ringing out through the dark. The wind brushes up against her hair. The red flowing in the rising storm sends chills down his spine. He has to force a giddy chuckle back down his throat before he breaks down completely.

 

“Makoto, wha-“ “Please just say it be honest please.” He watches the sky tear open, an array of colors dripping out like clay and falling around them. He unravels, revealing the dark disgusting thing draped in lines of color and drowning in the dark that is him and all that he is.

 

“I love you, Naegi Makoto.”

 

And yet, and yet, he falls. Lets the water flood his blackened lungs and red-dashed limbs and gives a twisted smile drenched in pink. Lets the words he wished to whisper to her that night roll off his tongue and choke in the river.

 

“I hate you, Enoshima Junko.”

**Author's Note:**

> 2/19/19: Now updated with minor tweaks for smoother reading, as well as fixing the repeated paragraph.


End file.
